


Grad School AU

by gigi2690



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi2690/pseuds/gigi2690
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myka Bering is a Classical Studies grad student with dissertation deadlines looming over her head. She's made a huge breakthrough but needs the help of a certain English Professor to take the next step. But what happens when that professor turns out to be just as beautiful and charming as is she is brilliant? And what's more...what happens when their research turns dangerous?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not copy or duplicate on other sites or mediums without my consent.

She'd hit a wall. A fourth year in Columbia's Classical Studies graduate program, Myka Bering only had a few more months before the first chapter of her dissertation was due. There were few things Myka found more agonizing than being on the cusp of understanding and being unable to take those last steps. When she'd stumbled upon Dr. Wells' article it was like a missing piece of the puzzle slid into place, and when Dr. Wells turned out to be a Professor in Columbia's own English and Comparative Lit. Department it almost had Myka believing in fate.

Ill-fated more like. For she was late, and Myka was never late. But Pete-

her childhood friend, the boy who punched Tommy Randall in the 3rd grade for pushing her down on the playground and then proceeded to tell her jokes until the teacher finished cleaning off the cuts on her knees-

Pete who Myka loved without reservation but who really shouldn't be calling her at 4am if he wanted to keep both his testicles. Upon hearing his voice, however, she instantly forgave him,

"Amanda left."

And she'd talked him down and away from the bottle until the sun was up and she was already late. And she really shouldn't have stopped to grab that coffee, but even with the excitement of finally making headway on her research, she was afraid she'd fall asleep in her meeting. Only, if she hadn't stopped then she wouldn't have been right there to go tête-à-tête with a swinging door. All her papers and colour-coded notes scattered to blanket the marble floor just shy of the entrance to the English department. And the low groan that escaped her was more petulant than anything, because didn't it just figure?

She didn't recognize anyone, having never needed to come to this part of the building before, but she avoided eye contact anyway. She could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks as she nodded and waved off the young red-haired woman and her rambling apologies. Falling to her knees as gracefully as she could in her pleated skirt (which meant not at all) Myka started collecting her papers, unable to resist putting them back in order regardless of her tardiness.

"Red-Greek. Blue-Latin. Green-Kufic script. Yellow-Aramaic." Looking up, her mumbling was cut short as she found herself caught in the most vivid mahogany eyes, and if there wasn't a literal damn twinkle in those intelligent depths, Myka would eat the rainbow post-it pad clenched tightly in her fist.

The eyes belonged to a beautiful woman in her late-thirties with medium length jet-black hair whom Myka now realized was smiling down at her from the other end of the Department lobby. She was tempted to smile back perhaps at the sheer lunacy of her own behavior, but she really was late so instead she went back to collecting her papers, and ignored the slight pang of disappointment at the woman's absence once she returned to her feet.

Her destination lay at the far corner of the department. While many of the other office doors had tacked articles or cartoons featuring literary puns to their surface, the one in front of her stood out for its simplicity: a sole small plaque reading 'Dr. Helena Wells' front and centre. Professor Wells is a woman? Her article was just under the initial Dr. H Wells, and somehow this detail had escaped her when she'd done her googling.

Her knock was answered with a low lilting, "Yes?" and Myka was struck dumb upon entering the small office, her mouth opening and closing a few times in a wholly unattractive manner. Professor Wells was that woman? How on Earth did she beat me back? And by god she's attractive. Myka tried to smile, but she could feel the heat returning to her cheeks and the anxiety in the lines of her face.

"Hello. You must be my 8 o'clock, Miss Bering?" Myka nodded, the soft British accent at once lulling her apprehension and setting her on edge. She watched long fingers lacing to press against a rich cherry wood desk notably absent of clutter, "You are a bit late, but having witnessed your entrance to the department," Myka felt her blush intensify, and watched with wide eyes as the other woman allowed her gaze to trail after it as it kissed her collarbones and sank down her blouse's opening, falling between the valley of her breasts (last time she listens to Pete's fashion advice before a meeting),

"I won't hold it against you. I remember the days," Professor Wells laughed and Myka inexplicably wanted to hear it again, and more specifically to be the cause of such a mellifluous sound. She could it feel it curl around her, sending a slow pleasant tingling down her spine, vertebra by vertebra, "and nights with a dissertation looming over my head. Now shut the door and come in darling."

Myka answered the soft command and beckoning finger without thought, drifting slowly closer stopping just short of the large desk at the centre of the small office. Her eyes darted around to the bookshelves that flanked both walls and a large window that stood behind the desk, casting a warm glow about the room. She looked to the worn leather chair beside her but ignored it.

She adjusted the papers in her arms, more for wont of something to do than anything else. For some reason she was rather thrown by this woman. She was certainly not what Myka had expected. She had expected Professor Wells to be more like her advisor: older, a bit unkempt, and grouchy as if every second he spent on her was one keeping him from something of greater importance.

This woman countered every assumption, and the small smile tugging on the corner of her lips had Myka suspecting she was aware of that fact.

"I admit I was surprised when I got your request for a meeting. I don't often get many Classical Studies grad students beckoning at my door. So Miss Bering, what puzzle can I help you with today?" Professor Wells' smile was bright, but her eyes were challenging, assessing.

Myka smiled slightly in response, nodding as she took a deep breath. This she could do. This was what she excelled at, and the desire to meet the challenge in those dark eyes exceeded even her usual drive to please. She started laying out her notes, still nervous but not entirely sure why,

"You wrote an article a few years ago about the poet Keats and his involvement in a secret society." The woman leaned back in her chair, the stretch pulling alluringly at the pale blue blouse just peeking out from under an understated but undoubtedly expensive black power suit. Myka swallowed the lump in her throat. She turned to look back at the notes she was arranging along the desk separating them. Professor Wells' eyes followed her every movement, eventually speaking up in the lull,

"Yes, people have been positing about Keats' ties to secret societies for a long time." Myka looked up to find Professor Wells' gaze fixed on her rather than her research. She nodded, clinging to the intellectual and trying to ignore the warm but unsettling feeling of being under the woman's scrutiny,

"True, but you claimed that while Keats was a spiritual man his regard for intellectualism made you question his compliance with the hermetic philosophies held by the secret societies of the time." The raven-haired woman's lips twitched, and she tilted her head slowly accordance,

"Indeed. Influencing the world through contact with," Myka had never seen a professor use air quotes and found the gesture oddly charming, "'heavenly forces,' while the man was certainly a romantic poet he became exceedingly realistic as he got older and yet…"

Myka finished for her, words coming out quickly now, unable to contain her excitement, "his letters indicated continued involvement. You analyzed a correspondence with one of his friends in which he spoke of an 'endless wonder.'" She paused, watching with rapt attention as Professor Wells now moved to lean forward in her chair, lessening the distance between them as she finally began to look over the papers Myka had practically covered her desk in.

"I don't think the endless wonder was a reference to heavenly forces or Godly reverence," Myka continued, nervously rubbing at the back of her neck; she hadn't told anyone this next part, not even her advisor, "I think it was a reference to something more physical. Perhaps even a place. Something that has existed for a very long time."

It came out in one breath, and it was a few moments before Myka remembered to breathe in again. She could feel that delicious drug of discovery singing in her veins. The tension in her frame kept her still as she waited for the other woman to speak. With what she'd unearthed she suspected was in need of this woman's help to take the next step.

The silence lingered as Professor Wells turned from the notes to simply look at her. One sculpted eyebrow was raised making her look both amused and intrigued, and Myka was not at all sure how to take that.

"You have writings here, I recognize Latin and Greek but not the others. How does this," Professor Wells gestured vaguely at the colour-coded array that lay between them, "play into it?" It wasn't approval, but it wasn't a dismissal either. Myka's heart lurched painfully all the same,

"I've got texts from 900 B.C.E to the 11th century: Aramaic," she pointed to each one in turn, "Hellenistic Greek, Medieval Latin, and Arabic from the Fatimid era." One long finger was playing at the edge of a green post-it; Myka could see the moment the other woman recognized her color-coding scheme. The resulting indulgent grin made Myka blush for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

Myka rolled on the balls of her feet, attempting to regain her bearings, "After translation, they all use a surprisingly similar phrase, 'Limitless wonder' 'endless marvels' etc to refer to something. Something to be treasure and protected."

Helena was shaking her head but her eyes now roved over the papers with focused consideration, "Indeed intriguing but very speculative. It could simply be a coincidence." Myka nodded,

"I thought so too, at first, but look at this." She pointed to a small symbol she'd highlighted.

Both eyebrows rose now, "I'm sorry darling," her voice was teasing and low and Myka had to lean in a bit closer to hear, "but I don't read Aramaic." Myka grinned broadly, eyes alight. She could feel victory at hand,

"It's not Aramaic," she pointed at the same symbol highlighted on a page covered in red post-its, "and that's not Greek," and another, "and that's not Arabic." Helena now looked more closely at the symbol highlighted on each page,

"It looks like some sort of bird standing on a flame under a roof." Myka nodded. Some were hard to see-the Greek one looked more like a blob with a beak- but they were all undeniably the same symbol.

"I think the endless wonder is referring to whatever that symbol represents." Professor Wells leaned back once more, looking impressed in spite of herself,

"You're arguing that this same treasure has existed since 900 B.C until the 11th century. That would make it the oldest legend to date, regardless of whether it truly exists." She let out a controlled breath, shaking her head with a wry grin, "To say that would be a discovery of massive import is a considerable understatement."

Myka shook her head, pulling out a heavily marked copy of the article that brought her to this woman's door in the first place. She turned it to the second to last page and pointed to just to the right of Keats' signature at the bottom of a Xeroxed image of his correspondence,

"No. I think that some tangible thing of great worth has either existed or thought to have existed since 900 B.C.E until at least 1818, perhaps longer." The woman looked down at her own article, noting the unmistakable symbol that lie at the bottom of the page. Wells' fingers ran through her hair, tugging slightly at the inky strands. When she turned back to look at Myka, the spark in her gaze was mirrored in Myka's own.

"I help you with your dissertation, and I'll publish a paper regarding what our collaboration illuminates regarding Keats." It was a statement not a question, sure and confident, but Myka was nodding anyway,

"That was what I was hoping Professor Wells." The woman grinned widely now, two full rows of pearly white teeth on display. It was an exceedingly captivating smile, laced with excitement and something almost feral in its intensity. Myka was lost in it for a moment, almost not hearing the next words,

"Brilliant. But if we are to be working together darling, do call me Helena."

~.~

She'd known from the article and meeting Professor Wells, Helena-she corrected in her head not for the first nor the last time-that the woman was highly intelligent (Top of her class from Cambridge, full professor at 34…Myka may have done some more googling after that first meeting), but the evenings she'd spent past few weeks pouring over texts in Wells' office or one of the many study rooms in the university's enormous library had demonstrated just how much of an understatement 'intelligent' was. She had a mind the likes of which Myka had never seen.

Within a few days, with no prior knowledge of any dead language but Latin, she'd started to gain cognizance –bringing Myka Greek and Arabic texts to their meetings that she'd somehow come across and thought would be of use…and she was unnervingly almost always correct.

Myka had often felt set apart by her own mind, the way it absorbed and pulled apart everything around her. Pete always said she thought too much. Even in college and then again in grad school she'd assumed she would find people of like ambition and drive, but it seemed that many sought knowledge to reach a goal- publication or a grade- and not as Myka saw it, with the attainment of knowledge and understanding in of itself being a worthy goal.

She soon found herself developing a sense of kinship with the charming British Professor. Dark eyes lighting up with every new discovery, every newly attained bit of knowledge – regardless of whether it related to their actual work. Late nights in her office had also revealed another side.

As the department cleared out, Helena would shuck her blazer and roll up the sleeves of whatever button-down she'd chosen for the day (always one too many buttons undone in Myka's opinion. It made the times when she'd bend over to pull a text from a shelf or lean over Myka's shoulder to point out something incredibly distracting). Myka also had the distinct impression that Helena knew the effect she had on her. Sometimes when her gaze would linger on the opening of her shirt and the spattering of freckles just barely visible along her sternum she'd look up to find Helena watching her with a cheeky grin or sometimes a softer knowing smile.

She was also fairly certain that-to an extent- this went both ways. She too had an effect on the professor, something that still surprised her: every time she'd look up from reading and find Helena's eyes focused on her mouth and more specifically the bottom lip she had a penchant for gnawing on when concentrating, or every time Helena drifted just a bit too close only to jerk slightly away…as if it were a compulsion she could not help, as if Myka had some pull that she could not escape.

Myka's eyes darted down to her wrist as she adjusted the shoulder strap of her bag at her side. 7:10. She had been extra carful not to be late after that first meeting. She told herself it was to make up for her poor first impression and not out of a desire to see the other woman. As she meandered her way to through the English department, she noticed two people chatting a few feet in front of Helena's closed office door. A short red-haired woman that appeared to be in her early-twenties and that looked oddly familiar and a tall man with short brown hair…they were engaged in a lively conversation and did not notice her presence until she was right in front of them,

"I'm telling you dude, I know H.G okay. Something's up and it has something to do with-" the young redhead trailed off, eyes widening as she finally noticed her arrival, "Oh. Hello. Fancy seeing you here."

Myka's eyes narrowed in question but she was distracted by a sudden realization,

"You're the woman who swung a door at my face a few weeks ago." It was more of an amused statement than an accusation but the young woman winced anyway, fiddling with the large collection of bracelets on her wrists,

"Yeah. That was me. I'm so sorry. I think I said that before, but yeah- totally am…" she trailed off, sending a glare at the man to her right who seemed to be holding in a laugh before continuing, "You're Myka Bering right?"

Myka nodded slowly, confusion setting in again, "How did you-"

Myka swore she heard the woman mutter something about curly hair and bright green eyes but didn't get the chance to speculate before the young woman extended her hand, "I'm Claudia Donovan, I'm Professor Wells' assistant. Among other things I handle her schedule, and you've been taking up quite a bit of it." She was smirking like she was privy to some knowledge Myka was not, and after a moment the young man with kind gray eyes jabbed her in the side with his elbow. She started, slapping him back,

"And this pain in the ass is Steve Jinks. He's basically the go-to guy when people need to get anything done in the Department." She leaned in to mock-whisper conspiratorially, "he's also the English Department Poker Champion 3 years running. Be forewarned." Myka smiled, nodding her head and promising to take that under advisement just as the office door behind them swung open,

"Ah good, Myka," Helena had already tossed aside her blazer looking effortlessly beautiful in a pale green blouse and tapered charcoal dress pants. Her eyes lingered on Myka for a moment before turning to the redhead, "Claudia. I thought I told you that you could go home over an hour ago. I need you bright and early tomorrow to help me with my seminar."

Claudia grinned, "Oh Jinksy and I were just heading off. Just stuck around to confirm a suspicion. You always do tell me to pursue every notable inquiry…" Helena's eyes narrowed and Claudia swallowed thickly, the cockiness seeping from her face, "and we'll be going now." She grabbed a hold of Steve's collar and promptly dragged him away.

Myka watched them go with a bemused expression. She turned back to find Helena studying her face intently. She cleared her throat and raised the small paper cup holder in her hand, "I brought beverages." Coffee for her; Tea for Helena. Helena always preferred herbal teas in the evening with just a touch of honey.

"Splendid. Well come on in darling." Feeling oddly reminiscent of their initial meeting, again inexplicably both more comfortable and more on edge, Myka followed Helena into her office.

For the next few hours they worked in relatively quiet harmony. Occasionally Helena would read an excerpt from some poem or letter written by one of the now 3 other poets and writers of the romantic era that they suspected were part of the same secret society that knew of the "endless wonder" they sought. They'd chat on the meaning of a passage or phrase and then drift back into comfortable silence. It wasn't until close to 10 that Helena broke the quiet for something besides their research,

"You know. I was very surprised to have gotten your email. Especially with your advisor being Arthur Nielsen, I was under the distinct impression that he doesn't much care for me." Myka looked up to find Helena smiling at her, leaning forward against the desk, palm tucked against her chin. Myka shook her head unable to help but return the smile,

"No. He doesn't, he was staunchly against me working with you when I told him, but when I asked why he wouldn't say." Myka pulled her bottom lip into her mouth sucking gently and watching Helena's eyes follow the move before she continued, "Why is that? I don't even know why you would be on his radar. The English Department is rather removed-physically and academically-from the Classics Department."

Helena grinned, but it was laced with something different, not angry but something far darker, "He has his reasons. There was an incident a few years ago that I was involved in. Because of such, Arthur did not think it suitable for me to be hired here. Thankfully, his position was overruled."

Myka desperately wanted to ask what the incident was, what it was that could bring about such a change in the woman's eyes, cause such immediate tension in her, but she could not. She had a feeling Helena wouldn't tell her anyway. Instead she turned back to the book in front of her, smiling as she spotted that elusive symbol for which they had both been searching,

"I found another one." Helena was out of her seat and standing behind her before she could say another word. Helena leaned down, the tips of her hair tickling the exposed column of Myka's throat, "Uh- see." She cursed herself inwardly, but the closeness was dizzying. Myka was certain that if she turned her head slightly to the side and up, no, she would not go there. She stared at the page in front of her, her knuckles white around the frayed binding.

"That does not look like one of the languages with which we've been working." Myka shook her head,

"No. It's Neo-Sumerian. 2100 B.C.E." Two long arms bracketed each side of her body, trapping her in the small space between the desk and the woman behind her. After a moment of silence, Myka finally got up the courage to turn her head. Oh God. She was so very very close. Myka could feel Helena's slightly shallow exhales, warm and sweet with the scent of honey.

"I was not aware that so many languages were required to get your doctorate." She was smirking; her bottom lip was moist as if she had just run her tongue along its length.

"You don't. You only need to be proficient in 2 ancient languages and 2 modern." Helena tilted her head slightly to the side in question,

"And may I ask how many modern languages there are in which you're," her eyes darted down to Myka's mouth and then farther, rolling with aching leisure down her frame and back up again, "proficient?" Myka's throat was dry, and as she squirmed in place her hand brushed against Helena's on the desk, but she did not move it,

"Five." Helena nodded looking not at all surprised by her answer. Myka felt the heat rushing to her cheeks and spreading-by the wandering look in Helena's eyes-everywhere.

"Delightful," it was only a whisper, but Myka could not possibly miss it, they were but inches away. She frowned brows furrowing in confusion, she had a feeling Helena did not mean her language capabilities,

"What is?" For some reason her voice was equally quiet. As if their conversation was to be kept secret even from the shadows on the walls.

"That blush on you." It came out in one long breath, and with Helena's eyes widening ever so slightly, Myka wasn't entirely sure it was meant to be said aloud. All it would take would be to lean up slightly, or to pull at the hand now resting on top of her own.

The chorus of 'Eye of the Tiger' rang out loudly in the room. Pete had set that as his own personal ringtone. As Helena straightened, tracing her fingers over Myka's knuckles before stepping away, Myka honestly couldn't say if she was disappointed or relieved.

"What is it Pete?"

"Hey Mykes! I need a ride!" He sounded hyper, but Myka knew a front when she heard one,

"What happened to your car?"

"Didn't bring it. And I lost my wallet so I can't call a cab. Please Mykes?"

Myka signed running her fingers through her hair, suspicions now confirmed, "You're drunk."

There was a lingering silence before Pete answered, false glee replaced with exhaustion and an uncharacteristic meekness that bordered on begging, "Please Mykes."

"Fine. Where are you?" She gave Helena an apologetic look, still close enough to be dizzying. Helena nodded, already back on her side of the desk and helping to gather the mess of books and papers, separating hers from Myka's.

Myka gathered her things as quickly as she could as she got the details from Pete, not looking back and yet very much aware that Helena was watching her go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the gang shows up plus special guest appearance: FBI Agent Olivia Dunham.

Pete was heavy against her side, his arm draped around both her shoulders with length to spare. He may have gotten leaner in the Army, but his frame still screamed hulking football jock and it was only Myka’s years of fencing that gave her the strength to half carry her best friend to the waiting taxi.

They didn’t say a word as Myka half dropped him against the pleather interior. Pete curled himself up, staring blearily out the window as the city lights bled into the rain. Myka gave Pete’s address and sat back with a heavy exhale. She’d been on autopilot since receiving Pete’s call, and only now did the events of the evening come rushing back.  Helena had looked as if she was about to kiss her, and even more terrifying, Myka felt as if –in fact-she may have been the one to kiss Helena.

Her tongue swept across her bottom lip; she swore she could taste the honey from Helena’s breath. Palms pressed firmly against her eyelids, as she groaned into the quiet. God what a tired trope, a lesbian affair with a professor. At least it wasn’t  _her_ professor. No. That was a dangerous journey for her thoughts, and with the first chapter of her dissertation due in two months she needed to focus.

That was the problem though, regardless of whether she did anything, Helena had already proved to be quite the diversion… popping up between cups of coffee and lines of text, lingering in her dreams. And Myka-the epitome of dedication and concentration-found herself wanting, craving the distraction like nothing she’d ever known before. Not even Sam. And it was terrifying. 

“She was supposed to be my one.” Myka started, her head spinning to face the other occupant of the back seat. She cursed herself for, well, being  _distracted_  from her obviously hurting best friend. But Pete wasn’t looking at her, he was still gazing imploringly out the window…seeking to divine answers from the starless sky.

When he spoke again the broken tremor in his voice wrenched something jagged and brittle within her chest, “Amanda was supposed to be my one.” Myka had always liked Amanda, she had been patient with Pete, enjoyed his humour and treasured the almost innocent way he saw the world despite the horrors he’d seen at war. They’d always gotten along; Amanda would probably have asked Myka to be one of her bridesmaids if not for the fact that she was Pete’s best man. But now- seeing Pete looking so miserable and so achingly young-Myka kinda hated her.

It reminded Myka of Pete at 15 after Tiffany broke up with him and he got into his parents’ liquor cabinet for the first time, she still didn’t know how he managed not to kill himself while drunkenly climbing through her second story window.

She’d kept him company as he clung to her toilet bowl, her words of comfort whispered in an attempt to keep her parents and Tracy from hearing her midnight guest. Her fingers had trailed through his hair; traced gentle circles into the base of his neck. Myka unconsciously reached out -much as she had that night- her nails scratching lightly against his scalp until his breathing evened out. 

She kept running her fingers through his short brown locks until the taxi pulled up to the curb. She wondered how much of a tip it would take for their driver to help carry Pete up to his apartment.

~.~.~

Myka’s heels beat in tandem with a dozen others as she made her way across the English Department. Far more accustomed to coming after dusk, Myka was a little thrown by the bustle of noon. Due to scheduling issues they hadn’t been able to meet for the last week: Helena was up for a grant and Myka had recently resumed her position as a T.A on top of her research and job at the Library.

It was a blessing in disguise though, as it had provided a buffer for any awkwardness that may have sprung from the moment they had shared…and more to the point it had allowed Myka the time to create a thorough pro and con list to remind herself the importance of not crossing that capricious yet captivating line. Myka didn’t think she was the only one, Helena had, after all, picked the time they were to meet…a time with plenty of witnesses.

The department was a giant square with the department lounge at the centre. Steve Jinks’ desk was beside the lounge entrance, and Helena’s assistant, Claudia, had a desk right around the corner. That said, Myka more often than not found her sitting on Jinks’. Like now.

“Come on Jinksy. You gotta ask him.” Myka slowed her gait and glanced at her watch, she had a few minutes and she was more than a little curious at what it was that was making Steve squirm. She backed up behind the corner she’d just rounded, out of sight but not earshot.

“Why can’t you mind your own business,” Myka could only imagine the look Claudia was giving him as he hastily continued, “I don’t even know if he’d be interested Claud.” It sounded like an excuse; Myka would know, she’d been teeming with them lately. Myka knew she was eavesdropping, but she was also certain Claudia had listened in on one or two of her and Helena’s late night conversations and a little turnabout felt like fair play.

Claudia scoffed, and Myka peaked to see her brush dark purple nails against the various buttons pinned to the lapels of her jacket. The jacket was a deep maroon with frayed edges and the undershirt sported some band Myka had never heard of in bright neon. The only thing professional about her outfit was her black dress pants and yet there was no doubt Claudia belonged in the department. She owned her space and passersby smiled with familiarity and respect. It was something Myka, a girl who’d been struggling to fit in for as long as she could remember, couldn’t help being envious over. 

 “With the way he was eying you like a prized t-bone steak? Ah ch-yah he’s into you,” Myka’s conscience overruled and she rounded the corner once more, waving to the two of them as she approached. Claudia waved back as she hopped off aged oak,” I’m off for lunch, let Helena know the document she wanted is in the printer and I’ll be back in an hour.” She tossed a departing remark over her shoulder as she walked away, “Ask him out you dope!”

Steve looked mildly uncomfortable, Myka has become fairly familiar with the man in recent weeks, Helena -while usually conscientious -was not the best at keeping time and Myka had quite enjoyed conversing with Steve and Claudia as she waited.

She was curious, she hadn’t even been aware that Steve was gay, but she didn’t know him well enough to pester or tease like she would if Pete had a crush. Instead she handed him his drink of choice, a chai tea from the cafe near her advisor’s office. She returned his smile, well aware that the gratitude in his eyes was for more than tea.

“You look nice.” Myka congratulated herself silently for not blushing; she’d been building up quite the tolerance for flattery and embarrassment since working with Helena. Her navy blue pencil skirt and crisp white button down were more formal than she preferred but she’d just started TAing again and impressions mattered. She drummed her fingers along the edge of the desk for a moment, considering. Steve to his credit let her be, as Department liaison and aide he was used to the face of someone wanting something.

“Can I ask a favor?” His nod was immediate and Myka found confidence returning, “Claudia said you were good at finding things. I need to locate a recording. Thomas Edison recorded Walt Whitman reading his poem ‘America.’” The skill to find obscure poetry audio recordings was not exactly in her Classics Grad Rolodex. 

Steve nodded, already typing on his computer, “May I ask why you need that particular version?” Myka bit her lip. She didn’t want to share too much, in part because she wasn’t entirely sure of the reliability of her source but mostly because she was territorial over her research. But if he found the poem and had any experience with Whitman…

“Because I have reason to believe it’s the only version with an extra three stanzas and I want to know what they say.” She watched the intrigue spread across his handsome face and hoped his professionalism would outweigh his curiosity. She could have asked Helena, but she preferred only to bring up leads with significant backing not a vague reference in a letter from Walt Whitman’s gay lover.

When she reached Helena’s door it was already cracked open so she strolled in with a gentle knock to announce her arrival, “It moved to America.” Helena’s head shot up from the papers on her desk, her forehead creasing as she took Myka in. Her eyes lingered on black heels and toned calves for a long moment-she’d forgone nylons due to the heat-and then up to rest on her white shirt, which (under the sunlight streaming in from the window) was just transparent enough to provide a glimpse of flushed, heated skin beneath thin cotton.

Myka struggled to discern iris from pupil as those dark eyes found hers. Suddenly it didn’t matter that a week had passed; it didn’t matter that there was a steady stream of people passing outside Helena’s office…the events of that evening hung like a ghost in the air between them, whispering enticingly into their ears. Myka swallowed thickly and repeated herself, “They moved it to the United States not long after Keats’ death.” They were still utterly clueless as to what the  _it_  entailed, although they were fairly certain it involved a collection of items rather than a singular piece.

Helena did not appear surprised, although the words did sever the intensity of the moment, clearing the haze from her eyes. But she didn’t ask to see Myka’s notes like she usually did. Instead she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, Myka was glad for the charcoal pants as she didn’t need the added distraction of exposed skin today.

Helena regarded Myka intently for a long moment before shaking her head and plowing forward, “Of our list of suspected secret keepers I believe we have 4 Americans,” she ticked them off on her fingers, “Walt Whitman, James Thomas Fields, Marie Curie and Thomas Edison.” 

Myka nodded, “I think we should include Nicolas Tesla. He immigrated to the States specifically to work under Edison.”

Now Myka was positive something was off about the Professor. She did not question this leap, although truthfully it wasn’t much of one as Tesla had come to the United States the same year as their elusive prize-If the mistress of Victor Hugo was to be believed-but Helena didn’t know that. She simply nodded and made a note in the margin of the file in front of her. The emotion flittering across Helena’s distinguished features was so out of place for the woman it took Myka a few seconds to place it…anxiety. Professor Wells was nervous.

“What’s our timeline to now?” Helena wasn’t looking at her and Myka had a growing suspicion that whatever was going on had very little to do with the awkward almost kiss. 

She answered absently as her mind puzzled over the woman, “We can trace wonderland (a nickname they’d decided on after tiring of ‘it’ and deciding ‘the holy grail’ was far too cliché) to 1912.” Helena nodded, but the movement was distracted, abrupt and graceless as her attention focused inwards. Myka could see the confliction in her furrowed brow, in the subtle shake of thin fingers through raven hair.

She wondered if Professor Wells’ current state had anything to do with the shadow Myka sometimes saw behind the woman’s eyes, the immense yet invisible weight that was capable of bowing such an impressive woman. No, the pain Helena carried was nothing new, Myka had often felt it calling out to the part of her that still ached over Sam. No, it was the vulnerability-more that of a caged animal than a woman having a breakdown- that struck Myka like a physical blow. 

First Pete and now Helena, everywhere people she cared about were hurting and that jagged and brittle thing wrenched itself along her ribcage now…carving a path for her heart to make leave from her chest for that seemed to be the only way she’d listen to it. She dropped her shoulder bag onto the chair before leaning slowly over the cherry wood desk separating them.

She gave Helena every chance to back away, but the woman only stared. Wide obsidian eyes, unblinking until the moment Myka’s fingers touched her jaw. They slid shut as Myka moved to cup her cheek. Myka struggled to pull in each breath; it felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. A vacuum that was the heat and softness of Helena’s skin. 

“What’s wrong Helena?” Her voice was low and rough; she resisted the urge to clear her throat. Helena’s eyes fluttered open and Myka watched her worry her bottom lip. She wondered if Helena had picked that habit from her, she didn’t remember her doing it when they first met.

“I want to help.”

There was a great whispering from the hall and Myka wondered if the universe was telling her something with these interruptions. They both turned to the door and spotted the bright yellow insignia on half a dozen jackets. FBI. They were coming their way. Helena was up and out the door before Myka was done processing. 

Myka trailed behind to watch the professor approach a woman with a distinct air of authority about her. She was beautiful: long blonde hair, soft features allayed by the steel in her green eyes.  She wore a fitted black suit and midnight blue dress shirt beneath her standard issue jacket. Classy, reserved.

“The FBI. What a pleasant surprise.” Myka knew that tone, it was the same one Professor Wells used when dealing with undergrads that couldn’t respect office hours. She’d seen bearded hipsters cower under that tone and the cool look that came with it, the blonde agent merely quirked an eyebrow and signaled to the 4 agents with her. They split in pairs, half headed towards Claudia’s desk and the other two towards Helena’s office. They had to step around Helena and Myka to gain entrance, and Myka watched bemused as one of them, a young Hispanic man, warily eyed Helena as he passed. 

“Agents Dunham,” she pointed at herself before pointing to the others, “Francis, Gonzales, Sampson and Winters. We have a warrant for any and all files or documents to which Claudia Donovan had access.” Helena grabbed the warrant from agent Dunham, fire blazing in her eyes. Myka turned to watch all her notes and files being unceremoniously dumped into file boxes.

“That’s my research!” her voice was strained as she reached out and grabbed a thick file from one of the agent’s, Gonzales’, hands. He snatched it back and glared at her, “Any work of yours judged as unrelated to Ms. Donovan can be picked up at the New York Bureau Office.” She growled in aggravation and spun around to watch Helena step well into the blonde agent’s personal space,

“You’re going after Claudia for cyber terrorism? Is that even under your purview?” Myka’s anger faltered at the familiarity of the question, at the tense air between the two women that spoke to more than the current situation. It struck her abruptly; they knew each other. It only further confused her, only further incited her anger. What the hell was going on?

One thing was for sure, Helena was fuming, more upset than Myka ever remembered seeing her, “How does it feel to be a tool of intimidation rather than protector of the innocent?” 

Agent Dunham laughed, light and mocking, “Oh you may be many things Helena,” and Myka seethed as she watched the agent let her eyes leisurely rake down to take in  _all that Helena was_ , “but innocent isn’t one of them.”

Helena ignored the jab; stepping so close Myka watched agent Dunham’s breath catch, “And Claudia?”

The agent’s jaw tightened. Something flickered across her face- guilt, regret- it was too fleeting a moment to say for certain. Seeing the look Myka doubted that it was coincidence, that the FBI arrived just after Claudia left for lunch. A missing piece of the puzzle slid into place. They didn’t want Claudia there for this. Agent Dunham didn’t want her there for this…because despite appearances, they were going after Helena.

Agent Dunham didn’t back away from the closeness, didn’t shy away from the intensity of the woman’s glare, “Whatever you may think, this isn’t about you and me  _Professor_ Wells. These orders came down from so high even the name of the person debriefing me has been redacted.”

As illuminating as this interaction was, Myka’s eye was drawn to the other female agent of the group, Agent Winters. She was on her knees, busily removing Claudia’s hard drive. The sleeves of her jacket had been rolled up to reveal a small tattoo along the webbing between the forefinger and thumb of her right hand. She recognized the symbol instantly and- with all the stealth she was capable- snapped a picture with her phone.

As the two of them seemed content to simply glare at one another, Myka didn’t reel too badly about interrupting. She tugged purposefully on Helena’s sleeve, dragging her away.

“What is it?” Helena’s voice was harsh, and Myka flinched minutely even though she knew the anger wasn’t for her. She ignored agent Dunham’s curious stare as she passed the phone to Helena. The reaction was immediate; Helena paled, the fingers of her free hand rising to tightly clasp a locket hanging from a silver chain around her neck. Myka’s curiosity burned bright and hot and needing. She yanked Helena by the arm, leading her around the corner before pushing her into the women’s restroom.  

“What is going on Helena?” Her voice was a whispered shout as she quickly checked to ensure they were alone, “Why is the FBI here?” She stalked forward and Helena stepped back, “How do you recognize that tattoo? How do you know Agent Dunham and why are they going through Claudia to get to you? Are they going to go through me next?” Each question was punctuated with another step until Helena was backed up against the sink.

Helena remained silent, her mouth opening and closing. Myka grabbed the woman’s shoulders and shook hard, “well!?”

“The tattoo is the eye of horus.” 

Myka’s grip loosened, but she didn’t let go…she already knew that. “Yeah, Classics major remember? Often used to symbolize sacrifice, healing, restoration and protection.”

Helena nodded, looking suddenly very tired. She slid back to sit on the sink, her head falling back against the mirror, “Protection,” she muttered softly, “I tried to protect you from this. Both of you.”

And there it was again, that vulnerability…but before where it incited sympathy now it only spurred her anger. Because Myka wanted to help and because people were always trying to protect her and because damn it this is her research and future those agents were packing up.

“I think it’s too late for that. Tell me what’s going on.” Helena shook her head again, her voice strong despite the weary grief on her face, 

“No.”

Myka felt her expression harden as she let go of Helena’s shoulders and stepped back. She was suddenly utterly calm, decision made, walk away. For now she willed herself to stone, hard and unbending. There would be time later for anger and hurt and betrayal and whatever else her heart gifted her with for daring to listen to it.

She could vaguely hear Helena following her out of the bathroom, could just catch Olivia’s inquisitive glance, but could not miss the agent’s parting words…they echoed through her mind…

_“Still bedding the wrong people I see?”_

Myka willed herself to stone.

~.~.~

Helena’s eyes trailed over the file in her hands, but she wasn’t absorbing the words. She could recite all 47 pages of the report verbatim, but holding it almost felt like  _doing_  something. At the very least the wrinkled and bloodstained pages served as a reminder.

She set the file down on her desk and picked up a small gold compact, idly tracing the etching on its front, “L.A.B.” She knew well enough that opening it wouldn’t provide the answers she sought, but it was invariably part of those answers. 

The door swung open and Helena started, instantly recognizing the clank of vintage steel-toed boots, “Claudia.” She scolded herself; there was no cause for her voice to sound so cagey.

Of course Claudia picked up on it instantly, her eyes falling to the blood red file and horrors it contained, “I knew it!”  Her voice was equal parts vindicated and accusatory as she stalked up to Helena’s desk. Helena stiffened, her mind was still reeling from her confrontation with Myka the day before… she didn’t need this. 

“Claudia.” Her voice was soft and just shy of beseeching. But the young woman was beyond listening and Helena knew well the wild fervor in Claudia’s eyes,

“I knew you weren’t spending all that time with her just because she’s a hottie or you wanted to publish a new paper. I KNEW there had to be more to it, ” she placed both palms on the desk and leaned over until she could stare Helena dead in the eyes, Helena met the gaze unflinchingly, “Especially with the F.B.I showing up.” 

All this was said in a single breath and Claudia looked winded from it, from the tempest of emotions stirring within her. Wounds ready to bleed anew at the barest scratch.

“You’ve found them.” She’d gone quiet. The anger a front for the desperation now clawing its way through the lines on her face… Lines she’d gotten far too young. Helena preferred the yelling.

“No.” She was tempted to leave it at that, but she knew better, knew Claudia would just go digging on her own, “We’ve found their past, but we’re close and somehow they knew it.”

The palms on her desk clenched into fists, “Are you saying those bastards are working for the FBI?”

“Some of them are.” She closed the file. Her fingers skidded along the underside of the desk until they found a small switch and she dropped both the file and the compact into the secret compartment she’d built-thankfully one the Feds had missed in their search.

“What aren’t you telling me?” There was that tone again, just like Myka. As if the secrets she kept didn’t burn her, didn’t haunt her, not realizing that sharing would throw them both into peril. Truthfully, Helena didn’t know how much longer she could keep it bottled up…she was not this noble.

She let out a quiet sigh, “A great many things my dear,” she raised a hand to cut off the young woman’s interjection, “as per agreed.”

Claudia groaned and spun around to kick at a large metal file cabinet. The bottom drawer popped open and she kicked it shut again as her head fell against the top, voice so low Helena strained to catch it, “I want them H.G.”

Helena’s nostril’s flared as something cold and unyielding shot through her veins, “I know.”

~.~.~

_Flashback_  

_Her battery was dying. She plugged the phone into the computer as she settled onto the kitchen island, clearing the clutter out of the way. She took a few deep breaths, steeling herself before her next move. Her eyes hardened, her posture unwavering and erect…she began to dial._

“ _What do you have for me?_

_“I got him. I want double.” The voice was gruff and uncultured. Helena had been afraid of this, the people she’d been dealing with of late were hardly trustworthy._

_“No. We agreed on price.”_

_There was a hiss and Helena’s grip tightened around the phone, “Listen princess. Things got messy tracking the bastard down. I want double.”_

_Helena felt a pang in her chest, “Here. You can confirm he is there right now? You have him in sight?” So long searching, too many false calls._

_“Yeah lady I see him.” Helena bristled, ‘princess’ ‘lady,’ she supposed it could be worse. She’d certainly heard worse._

_“Send me a picture.”_

_It takes her a few moments to open it up on her computer. It’s just a profile, a man walking into a gas station, but it’s enough. She could never forget that face._

_“I can’t afford double.” Anxiety was laced in her words, breaking them against her throat before tumbling out._

_Such weakness was met with no compassion, “Too bad. Call me back when you do. And you better get it fast, who knows how long he’ll be here for. I ain’t his babysitter.”_

_“I’ll try.” A dial tone is her only response, she hung up…suddenly calm. Her eyes returned to her computer as she began typing furiously, the screen displayed a running code and then a map with a small red, blinking light._

_Las Vegas._

~.~.~

She pulled back the slide an eighth of an inch, her other hand swept up to pinch the slide lock and gently slid it down. She worked in the dark, with only the moon from the window at her back to guide her. Her movement was practiced but slow as she removed the slide, then the spring assembly, finally the pistol base. Before a few years ago she’d never held a gun, now the cold metal felt familiar, bringing back old feelings, rage and vengeance tempered by time but never gone and certainly not quenched.

She arranged the pieces along the dining room table in front of her. Making a puzzle and then rearranging them into a new design, waiting. A fruitless attempt to keep her thoughts from straying from the task at hand, but control had been a fickle thing in the case of one Myka Bering.

Their dance was like a shock to her heart, forcing that damned organ she had very well given up on to beat once more. But it was done on a knife’s edge and Helena was already dodging one too many sharp edges in her life. And while she suspected pursuing a romantic entanglement, letting the woman in… would only endanger Helena’s heart, Myka’s fate would be far more dire. And no fluttering of the heart or momentary peace was worth taking Ms. Bering from this world.

She leaned back in her chair, reaching for her tumbler and raising it to her lips. She filled her mouth before swallowing, wanting to savor the burn. She traced her fingers along the pistol base before picking it up. She held her arm out over the edge of the table and let it fall with a resounding _clank._ She winced faintly, she was fairly certain she’d just scuffed the wood flooring.

A small light flicked on from the end of the hall leading into the room. Quiet footsteps followed and Helena sat completely still, aware that she would be blanketed in shadow. The blonde that stumbled into the room, on the other hand was quite within her vision…and what a vision she was: a thin black tank top and bikini underwear that left miles of golden skin for Helena’s eyes to feast upon. The sight awakened old memories and she shook them away, her movement drawing pale green eyes in her direction.

“Who’s there?” There was a small amount of fumbling before the overhead light switched on and Helena blinked at the sudden brightness. She was unsure how long she’d been in the dark; at times it felt like she never left its cold embrace. Helena grinned at Olivia Dunham’s alarmed expression,

“Your taste in whiskey is still impeccable.” Her tone was light but cautious and wisely so. She was unsure how to begin a civil conversation with a woman she had wronged so completely that breaking and entering would be the smallest of her sins.

“Helena are you insane!? Breaking into a Federal Agent’s place in the middle of the night.” Olivia’s voice was thundering but her posture oddly calm, almost expectant, “Why shouldn’t I arrest you for this?” 

Helena took a breath and hoped she had not just doomed everything with this decision, the unfamiliar choice…to trust,

“Because you’re curious at to whom is behind your orders; because you were the kind of Marine that dared prosecute a rapist with a hell of a lot of military stars backing him, and because your work as an special investigator taught you a thing or two about a cover up.”

 Helena watched the curiosity ignite in the agent’s gaze, and she could not resist a smirk, “At the very least you’re going to hear me out because you don’t want to admit I managed to sneak into your place, take apart your gun and confront you in your underwear.”

Helena watched her jaw tighten, the steely edge return to her eyes. She grimaced inwardly as she backtracked (it would serve her right to end up in jail because of her inability not to gloat),

“We are who we protect, what we stand up for. Let me tell you who I am Olivia. Who I protect and what I’ve done to ensure that protection, and if you still want to arrest me when I’m done… I’ll go quietly.” 

Olivia didn’t answer, instead she walked over to the kitchen-never taking her eyes off Helena-and grabbed another glass. She rounded the table again and sat down across from the brunette. She slid the glass across the table before sitting back in her seat, eyes narrow and appraising. Helena poured three fingers of whiskey and slid it back, “For you and I it started in Las Vegas. But for me it all began in Paris…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of questions get answered and new ones arise.

The patter of quick footfalls shattered the eerie quiet that had settled over the empty department. Well mostly empty, Claudia shot a look to Steve who groaned and nodded in compliance. He busied himself with some papers on his desk, papers she knew to be blank. Newb. She kept out of sight, absently checking her phone again to ensure that H.G’s still pinged on the other side of town.

A frazzled voice spoke as the footsteps ceased, “Hey Steve, a little late isn’t it? You said it was urgent in your message.”  Claudia let out a deep breath and adjusted the pins on her vintage jacket. Showtime.

“Um-Myka. Uh, Yes. I got that audio recording of the Whitman poem you asked for. Well, I think I did. I couldn’t play it; it’s on a medium I haven’t seen, it’s uh, pre records. But it was the earliest recording of that poem recited by Whitman I could find.” Claudia swallowed her exasperation, he’s a frakking walking lie detector but ask the boy to do a wee bit of deception himself and he’d flub every other word. But he got Myka there: that was enough. 

“Thanks, but that really could have waited until tomorrow.To be honest I’m not going to be able to do much until I get my research back from the feds.” Claudia grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She sounded upset, annoyed, confused. Good. She was too; she could work with that.

She poked her head around the corner in time to see Steve hand over an ancient looking cylinder and wince apologetically, “Sorry by the way.”

“It’s alright Steve, I was just prepping for a lecture I’m T.A-ing tomorrow. I appreciate you doing this, I know it’s not your job to help overwhelmed grad students.” Myka’s smile was warm and Claudia couldn’t help but notice how it lit her up in spite of the exhaustion and frustration lining her face. Her eyes were bright too…not just in the physical sense but with intelligence. Filled, overflowing even, a woman perpetually starved for a puzzle to figure out or new information to store away and scrutinize. And in that moment Claudia could see what it was about her that had so had captivated her mentor.

Steve grimaced again and Claudia knew in that instant that her time batman-ing in the shadows was up, “No, I didn’t mean that.”

 Claudia rounded the corner with a flourish, “What up, dude. I think it’s time you and I have a little chat.” 

Steve stood up and backed away from his desk in record speed, “I meant  _that_. I’m gonna-” he gestured to the department entrance, “see you later Myka,” he turned to Claudia with a look of warning, “she’s good people Claud.”

Claudia waved him off, eyes already focused on her prize, “Don’t be silly Steve-o. We’re just gonna have a powwow and clear up a few things.” Neither woman noticed him go. 

Myka was studying her intently; it made Claudia feel eerily like a frog being prepped for dissection. She irrationally checked the brunette’s palm for a scalpel before telling herself to get a grip. Classics student or not, with that stare the woman should be a cop. And she should know…she’d run into the wrong side of a few over the years. It didn’t help that she had obviously T.A’d that day, her more casual clothes forgone for black dress pants and an emerald blouse. People always seemed less intimidating in jeans, except H.G, that woman could be terrifying in a towel.

She steeled her breath. She could hear Helena’s voice in her head,  _‘Own it darling, and no one will see the cracks in your mask,’_ “Look, you want answers; so do I.”

Myka nodded like she’d suspected as much. Smart cookie. “You know why the feds were here yesterday.”

 Claudia shrugged, whipping a credit card out from her back pocket, “I know part of the story,” she started making her way to H.G’s office, “I suspect you know the other half.”

Myka snorted indelicately, “ I don’t know anything. She hasn’t told me  **anything.** ”

 Claudia tsked and continued walking without turning around, certain now that her curiosity would have the grad student following, “Come on now, for H.G. to show any interest in you academically,” (‘or biblically’ was whispered under her breath), “you gotta be smarter than that.”

 She fell to her knees and slid the card in the gap between the door and its frame. Once, twice… _click._

 She grinned turning to Myka in triumph, “Always takes a bit of finesse to find the sweet spot…” she frowned, “that didn’t sound dirty in my mind.”

 Myka shook her head with lazy intent, as if sweeping cobwebs from the corners of her thoughts, “Her interest in my research isn’t academic.” Comprehension began to spread across her face, “The FBI was after my research!” The excited look of finding the correct answer was promptly drained along with all her colour a moment later, “Oh my god. I’m never going to get it back am I? No, oh hell. It’s worse than that. I’m not going to be able to publish!”

 When the wild gesturing began Claudia knew she had to do something to rein her in; she’d never been good with people and panicky people even less so. Plus, she still needed information. She jumped up and grabbed each flailing arm, “Yes. I’m sorry. And yes because I’m sure you’re going to get there yourself in a sec, H.G. knew you’d never be able to publish.”

 Myka’s mouth opened but Claudia plowed on, “And you have every right to be angry. Believe me, you don’t realize how much you actually should be angry. She dragged you into this and now there are some things you need to know, and if she won’t tell you,” she let go of Myka and maintained eye contact until she’d backed up enough to prop open H.G’s door, “then I will. Now come on, I’ve already rigged the department lobby’s cameras to erase tonight’s footage, but H.G’s office is bug proofed.”

 Myka blanched even further,  “Bug proofed?  Is this illegal? Have I gotten involved in something illegal?”

She looked so utterly scandalized that if things weren’t so dire Claudia might have laughed, “Not yet, but I can’t say the same for H.G and me. Take a chill pill and I’ll explain everything.”

Myka began to walk past her but changed her mind as she froze in the doorway and spun around, “No wait. There’s something I have to know,” she seemed to brace herself for a blow, “what’s the deal between Professor Wells and that blonde FBI agent.”

Claudia’s eyes widened, the inside of her throat suddenly feeling like it’d been used as a cat’s scratching post, “Blonde? Like seriously beautiful? Soft features, sharp eyes?”

Myka nodded and Claudia cursed, any guilt over going behind H.G’s back gone. She should have told her. She deserved to know Agent Dunham was involved.

“Um, okay, see this is totally why we need to chat. There are things I need to know-”

 She was stalling and the brunette clearly saw through her as she cut her off, “When I asked Helena I got the run around, and now with you. I thought we were going to exchange information, hmm?” Crossed arms, laser stare, damn this woman could be scary.

 “Okay, look,” Claudia raised her hands, uncertain whether she’d have to calm more wild gesturing in a moment, she so didn’t want to have to placate her mentor’s I-really-shouldn’t-go-there-but-I-just-can’t-stop-myself love interest, “it’s not what you think.”

To the brunette’s credit she merely smirked although there was no humour in the expression, “Right, so Helena didn’t sleep with her, and she isn’t somehow connected to my research? And you. I’m fairly certain something happened between you two as well.”

Claudia opened and closed her mouth a few times before shrugging her shoulders, “Okay it is what you think, but it’s complicated. I’ll get to it.”

Myka shook her head definitively, “No, this isn’t story time. I just want a straight answer. Just give me that.”

Claudia sighed and ran her hand through her short locks, “Alright. Fine. But from my experience answers don’t always illuminate much when you’re missing the context.” She squeezed by the brunette still in the doorway, crossed the office and plopped herself down in Helena’s chair, “H.G. slept with her for information.”

There was a silence then. Something for which Claudia was incredibly thankful. She knew what the next question would be; she could feel it in the air, just waiting to be summoned into existence.

“And you?” There it was.

“Agent Dunham took away the only person I had left in the world,” she knew her voice was bitter, and it made getting the next bit out even harder, “and she saved my life.”

There was an even longer silence. After a minute or two Myka finally entered the room. She sat-or rather collapsed- into the chair opposite the large cherry wood desk and gave Claudia a mollified look, “I think I’ll take that context now.”

 ~~

Helena drifted off, Paris. Even saying the name of the city aloud felt like breathing life into a great number of dark things she’d rather leave buried. Helena didn’t share. Not with anyone. Not anymore. She and Claudia would exchange looks from time to time; an understanding would pass between them, that was as close as she came these days.

 Until Myka. Helena could not rationalize it; could not understand the source of such sentiment, but there was something about the young woman that made her feel like dredging up every twisted shadow within her…as if by expelling it, the very light that drew her to Myka could somehow eradicate her darkness.  It was a dangerous notion.

 “I was teaching at the Sorbonne. I came across some interesting information. Hardly anything truly, just a hint of a path and a whisper that something worth seeking might lie at the end. But soon the late night calls started. Of course no one was ever on the line.” She shook her head, lamenting her own stupidity, “I told them to stop being such a damned cliché, if I remember correctly. Then they started following me, always a different face but they made no attempt to hide what they were doing. But I was stubborn, arrogant even, and ever so curious. And for that boldness, they took my daughter from me.”

 She took a shaky breath, her hand trailing up and along her collarbone as it sought out the locket around her neck. After a few moments she could feel it leaving an indentation in her palm, and her grasp only grew tighter. She waited; she could see Olivia’s confusion already and there was little point in continuing just to be interrupted. Brown eyes scanned the darkened apartment. Sparse but warm. Not lived in.

 “I read your file. There was no record of a daughter.”

 Helena smiled, “No there wouldn’t be. My Christina. She was my brother’s technically, the product of that summer’s whirlwind romance left on his doorstep. But he was not fit to raise a child. The man was barely able to look after himself.” She sighed, an almost wistful look crossing her face, “He may have been my older brother, but I was paying off his gambling debts while still in secondary school.”

 Olivia’s look changed, her compassion at war with her suspicion. She cared with a depth Helena had rarely seen. It was what made manipulating her that night in Vegas so very easy; it was also a part of what made her so very good at her job. That and her dissatisfaction: with not understanding, with not saving everyone. If there was ever someone with a savior complex it was Olivia Dunham. It was to both that sensitivity and that drive that Helena sought to appeal now.

“You raised her as your own.” 

 “Christina was  _mine,_ in every way that mattered.” Her tone left no room for argument; she emphasized the point with an exaggerated swig of whiskey.

Olivia’s eyes fell, taking in the slight shake to Helena’s hands as she gripped the glass.

The blonde reached across the table to snag the whiskey bottle, thus revealing a thin line of flushed skin as her black tank top inched up. Helena’s eyes fell to the spot as she allowed herself the luxury of the distraction.

 Helena had bedded a good few men and women in her life, and some for more than purely amorous reasons. But few had left such an impression in so short a time as the young FBI agent. She had many regrets in her life, acting on impulse and emotion will do that. She regretted manipulating Olivia, but she did not regret sleeping with her, did not regret knowing how Olivia sounded on the cusp of orgasm, or that when she grazed her nails down the small of the blonde’s back where the freckles formed the constellation of Cygnus (the swan) she’d tremble, eyes rolling back. She smiled faintly into her tumbler and took another sip, no, she could not find it in her to regret that.

“I remember your brother. His file I mean. Inventor wasn’t he? Engineer for the British government?”

Helena chuckled, a conspiratory gleam in her eye, “Ah, no. But I let the world think he was.” At Olivia’s questioning expression she elaborated, “Oh, he had the credentials but no imagination, no spark, and no one wanted something made by a woman with a doctorate in romantic and Victorian literature, a genius IQ, and a problem with authority.”

Olivia gave the brunette a wry look, “I noticed that last part. So you taught at the Sorbonne and invented tech for the British government in your free time,” Olivia scratched the back of her neck and blew some hair out of her eyes, impressed in spite of herself, “all the while also raising your niece as your own?”

A clock on the far wall went off, midnight. Helena nodded, “Well it sounds crazy when you put it like that, but essentially yes,” her smirk blossomed into something softer, nostalgic even, “my life was full, in every single way.” She gave the agent an appraising look, “Have you ever been content, Olivia? Completely and wholly satisfied with your piece of the world and your place in it?”

She turned back to her glass, having already discerned her answer from the look in those pale green eyes. The woman was haunted, and she suspected the blonde had carried around her ghosts for far longer than Helena, “No. I didn’t think so. It’s an awful lot to lose. It will make a person do curious things. Things they would never have dreamed of doing.”

It wasn’t an excuse; Helena wouldn’t make excuses for her actions. And after a moment Olivia nodded, having seen that explanation for what it was, a reason,  “And they died.”

Helena stood up from her chair abruptly, pressing both palms to the wall for balance. She’d drunk more than she’d thought, “Were murdered you mean.” She bit out the words. She closed her eyes as she reined in her emotions. This anger was like an old lover, so easy to fall back into when you remember all the steps.

“Are you saying it was arson that killed your brother and…daughter?”

Helena cocked a brow as she leaned more fully against the wall and looked down to where Olivia still sat, watching her, “You have an awfully good recollection of my file.”

The corner of Olivia’s mouth quirked slightly as she raised her index finger to her temple, “Photographic memory.”

Helena latched greedily at the insight, knowledge, understanding, that was how she curbed the rage. She scrutinized the other woman for a long moment. Her jaw dropped and she pointed a finger at the woman accusingly, “That’s how you kept beating me at blackjack that night! You were counting cards.”

Olivia leaned over the table, propping herself up on both elbows and interlacing her fingers. With the movement, long blonde locks were haloed by the floor lamp behind her, and she seemed to be set aglow, an angel with a far from innocent expression gracing her face, “You weren’t the only one manipulating matters that evening, but you’re changing the subject. Are you saying the fire was set on purpose?”

With a heavy exhalation Helena pushed herself up and off the wall, choosing instead to pace about the small room, her eyes falling to a picture on a small table of a blonde who looked an awful lot like Olivia carrying a baby in her arms. She picked up the frame and ran her finger absently along the smile on the woman’s face,

“What I’m saying is that I was warned to stop my research. That one fateful week in June I left my child with my brother to give a lecture in London. What I’m saying is that I received an untraceable call telling me that for not listening there would be consequences, and that the next day the embassy contacted me to tell me both my daughter and brother were dead.”

“But that didn’t stop you.”

“Of course it didn’t.” Her tone was sharp, but the aggravation was not directed at Olivia, “I couldn’t let it go. Not when they were out there. Doing this to other people. Destroying other lives simply to protect their secrets. There was a camera installed in a shop across the street from my brother’s place. I bribed the shopkeeper for all his footage. I spotted the same man watching his place 3 times. Then he entered and exited his building just 15 minutes before the fire.”

“And the police wouldn’t listen? I find that hard to believe.”

“They were incompetent enough not to see the fire for what it was. I also held a suspicion that some members of law enforcement may be involved, a suspicion at last confirmed yesterday afternoon when you showed up at my office.” There was that confused look again, but unlike earlier when it irritated her, it now brought her comfort. For if Olivia didn’t understand her meaning, it suggested she was not yet one of them.

That said, there was one thing she felt the need to make abundantly clear. She carefully put down the picture frame and made her way over to the agent. To her credit Olivia did not back down, did not flinch, as Helena breached her personal space much like she had in front of her office the day before. Placing both palms flat on the table she leaned over until she was eye level and but a breath away,

“Know this. The only reason I’m trusting you this far is because you were there that night at the warehouse and I saw your face after you pulled the trigger. You care. It is your greatest strength and your Achilles heel. Tonight I’m hoping it will be both because I’m up against more forces than I can handle, some with which you are uniquely suited to help me. ” She stood up straight, unable to discern anything but calm assurance from Olivia’s face and posture.

Silence dragged for a moment after her impassioned words, it was clear that Olivia was choosing her next step with great care, “And Claudia, how does she fit into this?”

Helena buried her sigh of relief in a heavy exhale and a clearing of the throat. Olivia’s response was neither a dismissal nor acceptance, but rather a gesture to continue. Helena could work with that, “If you’re implying I somehow dragged her into this you are very much mistaken.” The haughtiness in her tone was beyond her ability to control, not one of her best qualities but one she wore well, “Claudia was involved long before I. She was only 9 when they killed her parents. When I came across her she’d practically grown up on her crusade. She didn’t know anything else.”

 ~~

_Flashback (Claudia POV)_

_The air was thin, a stifling 107°F and Claudia groaned inaudibly as she wiped the sweat off the back of her neck. She’d ducked behind a large rosebush on a lawn that was far too green to be natural. She had thorns in places she didn’t care to think about, but it was worth it, she’d found them._

_She fiddled with the frayed edge to her jean shorts as she debated her options; Joshua would kill her if she did anything rash, well…more rash than staking out the place of one of the men responsible for their parents’ deaths. He’d been an exceptionally hard man to track: average height, average build, thinning hair and a thousand and one aliases. After a false lead in St. Louis and another in Minneapolis, they’d finally caught a break._

_Twenty minutes ago he’d walked up to the door of a nondescript, white colonial home, and a man she didn’t recognize had let him. But the really interesting bit was that someone else was already tailing him.  Claudia had easily spotted the rental stopping at the corner of the street. And while she was good, from her position she easily saw a thin raven haired woman in her mid thirties sneaking from backyard to backyard until she was in the next lawn over. Definitely not a cop. She didn’t move like one, and she’d never seen a cop in khakis._

_“Curiouser and curiouser. Now what?” She turned to her left and caught the eye of a creepy looking garden gnome, “break into Mr. Green thumb’s house and use the phone you say? Well that’s not very neighborly but if you insist.” She pulled out a lock pick from her pocket and eyed the house across the street to see if the coast was clear. It wasn’t. Far from it. A black SUV turned onto the street, and pulled right up to the curb in front of the house she’d been staking out._

_“Jeez aren’t you Mr. Popular.”_

_Crouched and ready to bolt, Claudia waited. After a moment a blonde in slacks and a pale green button down stepped out of the driver’s side. The shades and the strut screamed law enforcement even before Claudia caught sight of the gun slung low on her hip. Pulling her long locks into a low ponytail the woman turned and stared right at her, or rather right at the rosebush she was hiding behind. Startled, Claudia fell back onto her ass and cursed under her breath. She thought for sure the jig was up… but after a few seconds, or maybe an eternity, she wasn’t sure, the woman turned and started heading up the path to the house._

_She wanted to get closer, but her raven haired friend apparently had the same idea. Instead she scribbled down the SUV’s plates onto the back of her hand. When the door opened again to reveal the blonde with her target in cuffs, Claudia was caught in a chaotic mess of conflicting emotions. On the one hand it felt good to see one of the men responsible for destroying her life chained up, but it wasn’t enough._

_For all she knew he was being arrested for evading his taxes. She also needed him to find the others, and now she had to know what the cops knew. She gave one last look to the black haired stranger. There were too many pieces moving around and she couldn’t even see the whole board. She wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes, “Time to return to home base.”_

_…_

_Claudia ducked under a break in a rusted chain link fence and hopped over some loose debris from the building that had been demolished in the next lot over. Home base this week was a warehouse on the edge of town. She made her way up to the back entrance, and threw it open theatrically, “Lucy I’m home!” She winced as she heard the echo of rapid footsteps. Time to face the music._

_“Claudia!” She was pulled into a tight hug before she could get another word out._

_A_ _fter a second she wormed out of the tight grasp, “Gross dude. You’re sweaty; I’m sweaty. No need to make a stink sandwich. I hate this city, have I mentioned?”_

_Her brother was still scrutinizing her as if looking for injuries or maybe a third arm, “Claud. I told you to stay here. You do the computer stuff and I do the legwork. That’s the deal. You’re only-”_

_“_ _Only 14 yada yada I know Joshua, but I got a new ping on my web crawler and you weren’t around… and I found one of them,” she grabbed his shoulders and shook slightly, “we finally found them. I was right; they’re here.”_

_The excitement on Joshua’s face cranked Claudia’s own up a few more notches and she jumped up in down in place a few times before darting away to her laptop. She’d set up shop on a table in front of a large wire box. She was hooked with some major juice, and it would only take a few minutes to get the name of the woman who’d arrested their man._

_Joshua followed her, “Well? Where is he?” She ignored him, booting up her baby and logging onto the DMV database, child’s play. There she was,_

_“FBI Agent Olivia Dunham. Now how are you involved in this?”_

_”_ _Who?”_

_She raised a hand over her shoulder and blindly clasped it over his mouth, “Quiet from the peanut gallery. The wiz kid is at work.” He licked her hand and she quickly pulled it away to wipe on her shirt. Ew. Brothers. A few clicks and ‘secure’ networks later and they had more than ever before._

_While he waited, Joshua eyed the organized chaos that was her workspace, “Are those credit cards? I thought we already had the identity theft talk.”_

_Claudia snorted and waved at him absently, “Well bro I’m afraid crusades for justice don’t pay the bills… Oh here we go,” taken into custody today by Agent Dunham, now they were talking, “Benedict Valda, well that’s certainly a mustache-twirling worthy villain name. And you’re being held-frak!”_

_“Claudia,” Joshua was using his big brother voice, and after a moment Claudia turned from her computer to look at him, “tell me what’s going on.”_

_She reached up and pinched one of his cheeks with a smirk; “You’re so cute when you get all paternal.” After taking in his withering stare for a few moments she explained, “Good news, we’ve finally got a real name to put to this bastard, bad news the police picked him up from one of his buddies’ houses and they didn’t put where they’re keeping him in their records,” she raised a hand as Joshua opened his mouth to interrupt, “good news, I have the name of the Fed who took him into custody and she’s staying at…”_

_Her fingers flew across the keyboard, the rest of her may be a klutz but her fingers were skilled performers in their own rite, “The MGM Grand. You still got that suit mom bought you when you turned 18?” She didn’t wait for a response, of course he did, they held onto every last piece of them they could, “cuz we’re hitting a casino tonight!”_

“Wait,” Myka’s voice cut in, thus ruining her flow. Claudia had been hoping to get it all out at once. Rip off the Band-Aid so to speak, “What about Helena? I’m assuming she was the woman also watching the guy, Valda was it?”

Claudia nodded, “Correctamundo, ten points to Gryffindor.” She cocked her head to the side, “Or is it Ravenclaw? I can so totally see you as a Ravenclaw.” Myka just stared at her, but Claudia could see the amusement in the slight quirk of her lips. Good. Danger and dire circumstances aside, the brunette was wound a little too tight, “Anyway, Agent Dunham was our target, at the time H.G was just a curiosity, a potential snag to keep aware of.”

 Myka leaned in with interest, “At the time?”

Claudia nodded, if she closed her eyes she could almost taste the tobacco in the air and see the flashing lights and great sea of tacky carpeting, “Until we spotted her at the casino, and that’s when everything started to go straight to hell.”

 ~~

_(Helena’s POV)_

_The front doors swung open automatically as she approached, the shift from oppressive heat to chilled stale, recycled air was jarring and Helena stopped in the lobby to gather her bearings. She trailed her fingers down the waistline of her blood red dress. The neckline dipped invitingly down to her sternum and sank even further in the back. She hadn’t had cause to wear anything like it since Christina’s passing, but tonight felt like as good a time as any to break it in._

_She passed a large gold lion surrounded by plastic plant life  Tack-Chic. It seemed to be the style of this city. She kept to the perimeter as moved, her eyes peeled for sight of the blonde agent. Various plans and contingencies ran through her mind as she weaved between throngs of patrons and servers._

_Eventually she spotted Agent Dunham perched on a stool at one of the blackjack tables. Good, she was out of her room. Of her possible plans, lifting the agent’s keycard and sneaking into her room was one of the simpler ones. Plan C, for example, involved causing a fire in the laundry room. As she strode over to the table, she caught sight of a young man in a suit eying Agent Dunham from across the room._

_Now drawing the amorous gaze of men (and women) wasn’t terribly surprising- the blonde agent was looking awfully fetching out of her work clothes and in a little black dress with a dusting of silver along the halter-but there was just something about him. She kept him in her periphery until he broke away towards the elevators. She shook it off and pulled out the only empty stool at the table, just to the left Agent Dunham. She studied the woman out of the corner of her eye: she wasn’t carrying a purse and there certainly weren’t pockets in that dress so where was the keycard…her eyes fell to the halter of the woman’s dress. Oh. A slight complication._

_She placed a sizable stack of bills onto the table, “Ten grand in chips please.” The dealer occupied himself behind the counter counting her allotted chips, and Helena decided to use the break to her favour. She turned slightly the blonde agent and assumed her most charming smile. The agent smiled back reservedly, and Helena’s breath caught as pale green eyes fell to the cleavage afforded by her dress. Well, wasn’t that interesting? An alluring solution to her dilemma blossomed in Helena’s mind._

_She leaned over farther than necessary to accept her chips from the dealer, her smile widening to show two long rows of white as Agent Dunham’s gaze (and the rest of the table’s) lingered for a long moment before turning back to her cards._

_Over the next twenty minutes a whole mélange of people cycled through, none lingering for too long as it was clear that Agent Dunham was dominating the table. It was fascinating to watch, the way she furrowed her brow as she scrutinized her cards way, how she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and sucked before doubling down. For a moment, Helena almost forgot what she was there for, but the cool metal locket around her neck was ever the reminder. She caught sight of a camera pointed at their table. It wasn’t scanning around like the others, and if she didn’t know better she’d have said it was watching **her**. But that didn’t make sense; she hadn’t done anything to warrant that, yet._

_Helena was considering how to best start up the conversation when she was surprised to hear the blonde speak first, “You’re pretty good.” It was the first time she’d heard the agent speak; her voice had a pleasantly low timbre. The kind someone could fall into if they weren’t careful._

_She grinned and nodded her head towards the growing pile of chips to the agent’s right, “You’re better.”_

_A delicious shiver ran down Helena’s spine as Agent Dunham leaned towards her, a captivating smirk pulling across full, glossed lips, “Why do I have a feeling you don’t admit that very often?”_

_Helena grinned cheekily even as warning bells went off in her head. They’d barely spoken and this Federal Agent already had a good read on her, she’d have to tread very carefully, “Because I don’t. Can I get you another drink Miss…”_

_“Olivia,” A hand was offered and Helena took it, taking in the feel of lightly calloused palms before letting go, “And it’s whiskey; Jameson, 18 years.”_

_Helena tipped her head to the side appraisingly as she raised her hand to signal a nearby server, “You have good taste.”_

_Olivia laughed, sparkling green eyes rolling down Helena’s body with intent, “I like to think so.”_

“Okay, I know this part.”

Helena smirked from her perch on the side of the table, “I was just being thorough.” 

Olivia rolled her eyes, but the left side of her lips quirked ever so slightly, “Yes, I remember how thorough you can be.”

It was hard to tell in this light, but if Helena didn’t know better she’d say Olivia was blushing. She grinned, her mind darting against her control to another woman with bright green eyes and a charming penchant for blushing, “Indeed.”

~~ 

_(Claudia’s POV)_

_She tugged awkwardly on the collar of the maid outfit she’d lifted as she slapped an ‘out of order’ sign on the door of the basement level laundry room. In a place like this there were laundry rooms on almost level, but the basement would allow her the access she needed. She pulled a laundry cart into the room and locked it behind her._

_Under the towels and sheets she removed her laptop a bunch of cables, and a hammer. She passed two long rows of industrial sized washing machines before spotting her mark. According to the building’s blueprints, there should be a thick bundle of wires right behind that wall. She twirled the hammer in her grip, “Say hello to my little friend.”_

_A few minutes later she was dusting plaster off her arms as she finished plugging herself in, “You read me big bird?”_

_There was a groan in her ear, “I thought we decided on the code-names.”_

_Claudia grinned as she started scanning through the various cameras looking for their agent, “I’m sorry, I just don’t see you as a Captain America. Now big bird, you know, educational but a little preachy? Oo, or bert. I can call you bert.”_

_There was a loud bark of laugher, and without even seeing him Claudia knew Joshua was shaking his head at her, “Only if I get to call you Ernie.”_

_She grinned, “Deal,” her eyes caught a familiar halo of blonde hair at one of the blackjack tables, “I’ve got her. She’s on the casino floor, blackjack, table 17.” There was a pause and Claudia snickered at her screen, “To your left Bert.” She watched him ease his way closer to her table, stopping some ten yards away._

_"So Ernie, who exactly is paying for these lovely new ear pieces?”_

_She rolled her eyes, they were about to break into the hotel room of a federal agent and he was hung up on a little case of identity theft, “Arthur Nielsen, but don’t you worry your pretty head about him. He’s got great credit; they’ll refund him. He’s just going to get a little heart attack opening his bill this month. Now, we don’t know how much time we have. Get moving.”_

_She followed his progress up to the blonde agent’s hotel room, occasionally glancing back to the woman in question. She seemed to be doing very well for herself if the pile of chips next to her was any indication. Hopefully that meant she’d be sticking around for a while. After watching Joshua fumbling in front of the hotel room for a minute she couldn’t help piping up, “You know I could have used this maid outfit to get you an all access pass.”_

_"What did I say about keeping you as removed from danger as possible? Have a little faith in your big brother won’t you?” On camera she could just make out the small device she’d seen him working on all afternoon, “You’re not the only genius in the family.” He slid something into the reader and while she couldn’t see the door lock turn from red to green, she could hear his sigh of relief just before he swung the door open._

_“Find the computer?” There was an affirming hum followed by rapid typing. After a few minutes the woman in red sitting next to Agent Dunham finally turned toward the camera, “Uh-oh.”_

_T_ _he typing halted abruptly as Joshua’s panicked voice cut in, “What do you mean uh-oh? I’m in the middle of multiple felonies here Claud you can’t just say ‘uh-oh.’_

_“No it’s okay. Relax. It’s just that-” she struggled for the best way to say it without worrying him, “remember the woman I mentioned that was tailing Valda? Well she’s here, and she’s chatting up our agent.”_

_“There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”_

_”_ _No shit Sherlock. Just hurry up,” she turned her gaze back to the camera watching the blackjack tables, “Son of a biscuit. They’re gone.” She frantically scanned the other cameras on the floor, finally catching sight of both Agent Dunham and their mystery woman heading towards the elevators, “They’re headed your way. You need to get out of there. Do you have it yet?”_

_More typing, Claudia groaned, if it were her, she’d have the info already. “Got it. It looks like he was released on bail a few hours ago, and before you ask, I got his address.”_

_She nodded, “Good. Now amscray!”_

_Claudia watched him flee into the hall and freeze suddenly in place, right in the eye line of the opening elevator doors. He just stood there, staring in the direction of the elevators. Claudia looked on confused, she tried calling his name but received no response. He was looking just out of sight of her cameras and the redhead scrambled for the one that must be in the elevator._

_When she found it, her jaw dropped open. Their mystery woman had Agent Dunham pinned to the side of the elevator, one hand wrapped in long blonde hair and the other slipping up and under the hem of the woman’s dress. Her face was obscured as she feasted upon the long expanse of pale skin bared by the halter of Agent Dunham’s dress, and on the multi-million dollar casino camera feed she could make out the red discoloration left in the woman’s wake as her mouth drifted lower. They clearly hadn’t even heard the elevator doors slide open._

_Claudia blinked once, twice, and cleared her throat loudly, “Dude, I know you’re living every guy’s wet dream right now but you really need to go now!” She gave one last look to the pair, someone could make a mint selling that on the internet, “And take the stairs. Spock out.”_

_She exited through the employee back entrance, looking around before ditching the maid outfit in a nearby dumpster. She parked herself on Joshua’s beat up Oldsmobile and waited, unaware than when they departed it would be their turn to be followed._

_~~_

“So, after you slept with me and hacked into my computer you sought out Valda…”

Helena nodded, fiddling again with her locket to school her nerves, “After some convincing he admitted he started the fire that killed Christina and my brother, and then I kindly asked him where I could find some of his colleagues.”

Both of Olivia’s eyebrows shot up at that statement and Helena met her stare unflinchingly. After a long moment Olivia sighed and slumped back in her chair, “So we’re going to ignore the fact that I found him bound to a chair and tortured to death are we?”

Helena’s eyes hardened but inexplicably, she grinned. There was no joy or warmth to the expression; rather it was danger personified, predatory and cold. She’d had no cause for such a smile before Paris, but she’d since perfected it. It was the last thing Mr. Valda had ever seen. But despite all this sharing and trust building, there was no need for Olivia to know that, “Benedict Valda received no more and no less than he deserved. He was a monster, and I suspect he was killed by one of his own creation. Fitting wouldn’t you say?”

Olivia shook her head in exasperation and waved a hand, “Continue.” 

“Well naturally I went after his colleagues, just because I’d dealt with the man who’d started the fire didn’t mean I didn’t want the one that had given him the matches so to speak…” A thought struck her, “Hold on, I got my information from Mr. Valda, but how did you know to go to the warehouse?”

The agent shrugged modestly, but there was a glint of pride in her eyes, “We’d arrested Valda in connection to a smuggling operation, but we also were after two others, one of which had been ticketed for parking in front of a fire hydrant a block from the warehouse.” Olivia shook her head, frustration suddenly creasing the lines of her face, “Looking back though…they had nothing to do with smuggling did they?”

Helena ran her fingers through her hair and bit her lip in thought, “Oh I do believe some smuggling was involved, but given what happened next I’d say what they were smuggling was far more insidious than anyone could have imagined.”

_(Helena POV)_

_Helena parked her rental on the edge of the street and stepped out. Even after dark the heat was overwhelming. Only a few of the street lamps on the block were operational; half the lots were filled with large industrial warehouses, the other half with rubble from buildings torn down. Not the side of town you wanted to get caught in after dark._

_She pulled out a glock from the glove compartment. It had been disturbingly easy to get her hands on one upon reaching the city. She hated how it felt in her hand, the weight of it; hopefully she wouldn’t have to use it. She’d had many long nights to think about this, and she had far more creative ideas. She’d just been getting started with Valda, but the man was quite vocal and the neighbors were bound to notice. Here, she’d have privacy._

_She took her time as she made her way to the warehouse Valda had told her about; it helped that it was the only one with lights on. As she ducked under a break in a rusted, chain link fence, she could hear muffled yells emanating from inside. She picked up her pace until she reached the back door, quietly propping it open to peak in. The warehouse mostly empty, a few scattered boxes in a giant room half the size of a football field. At the centre, two people were being held at gunpoint: a young man and a redheaded girl no older than 15. Helena recognized the young man as the one from the casino, the one that had been watching Agent Dunham. She didn’t recognize the girl, but she was clearly terrified, they both were._

_There were two men with guns; one was holding what looked to be an old antique compact. He was offering it to the young man, demanding he take it. Helena looked on confused; she sniffed the air, fudge? The guy was pleading, begging that they let the girl go. But the closest guy just shoved the compact into his hands, “Open it.” The words echoed in the room._

_The man backed away, and his partner slid a switchblade across the cement, stopping just shy of the boy, “Pick it up.” Helena was poised to jump in, the safety on the gun had been switched the moment she’d spotted them, but she didn’t understand… if they intended to kill them, why were they arming them?_

_The boy opened the compact and froze in place. The girl called out his name, but he did not respond. He seemed to be staring fixedly at his own reflection. There was no time to dwell, however, as the two men began to make for the exit on the other side of the warehouse. Not wasting any more time, Helena swung open the door and ran inside. She ignored the shocked look on the young girl’s face as she raced after the men. They saw her and fired twice, missing both times and Helena returned fire just as they yanked open the door and slammed it shut behind them._

_She collided with the door, but it didn’t budge; they’d locked it from the outside. Scrutinizing the situation quickly, she used the butt of her gun to break the hinges, they were already more rust than steel and crumbled after the 3 rd or 4th hit. The door echoed as it fell to floor, and she darted out without glancing back. The screech of tires filled the air and she gave chase. She caught sight of a dark, plateless SUV and fired blindly at it as she ran. One of her shots shattered the rear window, but the car just kept going, taking with it her only lead._

_The rage and despair she’d later experience had no time to take hold as a horrified scream reached her ears, “JOSHUA! NO!” Helena sped back to the warehouse, convinced that one of them must have stayed behind. But when she got there the sight stopped her in her tracks. The boy, the young man that had been so desperately begging to save the redheaded girl’s life was now coming at her with a switchblade. Her mouth fell open, a rare feeling immobilizing her, uncertainty._

_The girl fell to the ground, her hands raised in defense. A shot rang out. But it was not from her. It was Agent Dunham, inexplicably there, gun drawn and looking just as confused as she felt._

_The boy fell, dead before he hit the ground. Agent Dunham had excellent aim. The scream that erupted from the girl then was far worse than any that came before, “JOSHUA!” It rebounded off the walls, off the lofted ceiling, echoing again and again, seeming to intensify rather than ebb. The redhead pulled the boy into her arms as the blood began to pool in a circle around them. The compact lay closed by their side and the girl just continued to scream._

_Helena knew she’d hear it in her dreams, and as her eyes met the blonde agent's across the warehouse floor, she knew Agent Dunham would as well._

_~~_

“And you know the rest,” Helena turned to stare out the window behind her, blinking the moisture from her eyes, “you held us for 24 hours, but in the end let us go. Lack of evidence and all that.”

 “Claudia was placed in foster care I believe.” There was no accusation in Olivia’s tone now, just curiosity.

Helena nodded, “She ran away her first night. I found her at the bus station. I promised her then to help her find the people responsible, and I figured I was better than no one at all.”

Olivia nodded, considering her words. Quiet descended on the room, but it was full. Full of everything that had been said, of all the questions that were still left unanswered, of the apologies and remorse felt but not offered, and of the confessions hinted at but holding no regret.

Their brief staring match was broken by a knock on the door. Helena’s eyes went to the clock on the wall, 2am.

“A little late for a house call isn’t it?” The words were aimed for teasing, but Helena was too mentally exhausted too put much effort behind it. Olivia didn’t answer as she stood, but it was clear from her expression that she had not been expecting company. Helena followed her to the door, watching in bemusement as Olivia pulled a robe off the hook and draped it over her shoulders before looking through the peephole.

 She turned back to Helena, tying the robe closed with one hand and undoing the deadbolt with the other, “It’s your friend.” Helena’s confusion was short lived as the door swung open to reveal,

“Myka.” She looked exhausted but determined. Her chin was raised in a manner bordering on defiance, as if daring Olivia to question her very late and unannounced appearance. Green eyes scanned the robe Olivia wore, hardening slightly before meeting Helena’s over the woman’s shoulder, “I’m here for Helena.”

Olivia snorted and threw her hands up, “Why come on in.” She glanced between the two women who no longer seemed to register her presence, “I’m going to get a little less comfortable. Talk amongst yourselves.” She left the room without waiting for a response.

Helena took in Myka in. She’d like to think she’d been getting to know the young grad student over the last month, and looking at her now she saw none of the helpless confusion that had been there the prior afternoon in the department lavatory. 

“Claudia.” 

Myka nodded, “We need to talk.” Helena winced but nodded. She’d been doing an awful lot of that lately. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think she could keep Myka out of this; it was definitely idiotic to believe she could keep Claudia from the thick of it.

All in then. Wherever it took her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They (try to) put aside emotions in favor of answers. Clues are given. A treasure map of sorts is at hand. But of course, things are never that easy.

The silence stretched like a long shadow between them. Myka had not taken a step since closing the door behind her. There were too many thoughts racing through her mind, she could not grab hold of one long enough to push it past her teeth. Helena’s expression was resigned, and there was a tension in her shoulders as if she were waiting for Myka to yell or perhaps strike her.

 

It wasn’t like both ideas hadn’t occurred to her on the drive over here, she had every reason; she’d been lied to, manipulated, she’d lost months of research-her entire dissertation- and now she was caught up in something dangerous, something that had claimed an untold number of lives and that she still barely understood. And yet. Her hands remained balled, knuckles white; her jaw stayed clinched tight.

 

“So,” Helena fidgeted; a hand coming up to clasp the locket pressed to her collarbone. Myka had never seen the woman look so uncomfortable, if the circumstances had been different she might have found it endearing, as it was she just ground her teeth together.

 

“Claudia’s been tracking my phone again. I should have known better than to let her borrow my phone when she claimed she’d forgotten hers last week.” Her attempt at humour fell flat. Myka’s lips contracted and thinned.

 

“I don’t even know what to say to you,” It felt like she’d been running a marathon. All those late nights in the Columbia library; those mornings waking up bent over her desk with her cheek an inked mirror image of Neo-Sumerian shorthand beneath her head. But these truths, these horrifying realities Claudia had spoken of, they felt nothing like the answers she’d been seeking. They were hollow; they scalded.

 

And she wanted to throw herself to the tide. To submit to the rolling anger and betrayal that kept battering against the inside of her ribcage.

 

Only, Helena wouldn’t meet her eyes.

 

And she needed to see. Needed to know. If nothing else, to know this.

Myka closed the space between them in a few short steps. Unlike the day prior in the department bathroom, Helena did not retreat. Last time she’d wanted Helena’s secrets, now she needed, “Look at me.” There was a beat of hesitation, and for a moment Myka feared she’d be denied again.

 

She grabbed the woman’s jaw, her touch was gentle if unyielding, “I need you-” and her thumb slipped to press against her bottom lip, not daring move, not daring to acknowledge the tingles that shot down her arm and spine with every shaky, warm exhale, “to look at me.” Then…perhaps for the first time…Helena did.

 

If Myka hadn’t already been holding her breath she might have gasped. It was all there. Her eyes a prism and Myka had finally found the right angle. Myka held her there, taking in the widening eyes and the hitch in her breathing. Myka felt nails digging into the fabric of her blouse, but they did not push her away. What she saw should have frightened her, because in that volatile mix of ash and liquid bronze Myka saw just how much darker things could get. If only that had been all she’d seen.

“What now?”

 

Helena inhaled her words, confusion creasing her features as one hand left Myka’s side to cover the hand still holding her jaw. “I don’t understand,” her brows furrowed as she scrutinized Myka in an odd mix of awe and frustration, “I don’t care for the feeling.” Her words were falsely glib. 

 

“Join the club.”

 

“I suspect you’re the one joining the club.” Myka immediately let go of Helena as she turned at Olivia’s voice. Helena moved back more reluctantly. The blonde agent was leaning against the wall, sporting a Northwestern tee shirt and a pair of loose black sweats.

 

Myka nodded at her before looking back at Helena with a pointed finger, “I’m still very angry with you.” The ‘we will talk about this later’ was left unsaid but understood if the wince Helena tried hide was any indication.

 

“Oh, there’s a club for that too.” The blonde pushed herself up from the wall and held out a hand, “Olivia Dunham.”

 

“I know.” Her tone and expression remained cool as she shook the woman’s hand. They hadn’t gotten on to the best of starts what with watching the woman and her agents toss her dissertation and future into FBI labeled file boxes.

 

Myka took in the warm and genuine if slightly contrite smile as Olivia nodded, “Right. Yesterday at Wells’ office. Not my best first impression although admittedly I’ve had worse,” she released a laugh that fell into a sigh. She had a restless energy about her, bare feet not creaking a single floorboard as she moved about the room, “I’m not saying I believe any of this yet, I’d be foolish to do so after Vegas, but I still can’t explain what happened in that warehouse and I know in my gut that something is off about my orders lately so we need to stop telling stories and work out what we know.”

 ...                                                

And so they did. They talked of many things: Of mind control compacts—and smuggling rings—of the unblinking eye of Horus with a hand in everything. And whether the sea is boiling hot, “And whether pigs have wings.” Myka mumbled the last bit aloud.

Olivia let out a breath of laughter, the words sliding easily passed her lips, “…did it for half-an-hour a day. Why sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

 

They were seated around the dining room table and Myka turned her head regard the blonde for a moment. She couldn’t help but feel grateful that there was someone else here who was as thrown as her about this whole thing.

 

“If you two are finished quoting Through the Looking Glass at one another,” Two pairs of green eyes turned to face her.

 

Olivia smirked, eyes crinkled in amusement at Helena, “Just because you’re the only one in the room without a photographic memory is no reason to be bitter.”

 

Her haughty scoff spurred two matching Cheshire cat grins, Helena didn’t know what to think of the women’s blossoming camaraderie, “We’ve been talking for two hours. From what Agent Dunham says, the files they took were sent to some redacted location and the one agent we know to be involved is low on the food chain. So short of following Agent Winters for the foreseeable future to see if she leads us to another tattooed colleague,” she slammed her hand down on the table, empty whiskey tumblers clanking together as the whole surface shook, “we have nothing.”

 

The front door to the apartment blew open dramatically as a familiar redhead strolled in with a large canvas bag on her shoulder, “Hey scooby gang, miss me?”

 

She dropped the bag gently to the floor as she pushed the door closed behind her with the heel of her sneakers. Myka turned to look at Helena; she looked reluctant but proud. Olivia didn’t bat an eye, but there was tightness in the line of her throat and as Claudia dug into her bag without looking once in Agent Dunham’s direction, Myka couldn’t help but picture a young boy bleeding out on a dirty warehouse floor.

 

“I was tempted to let you three spin your wheels a little longer in payback for not inviting me to this shindig, but I love a good entrance,” she threw a wink and half smile in Helena’s direction, “I learned that from you H.G.” Relief flittered across Helena’s features and Myka realized that she’d been waiting to be yelled at again. Despite her own issues with the woman she was thankful. Helena deserved someone in her corner, even if Myka wasn’t yet willing to be there herself.

 

Myka noticed the wax cylinder in Claudia’s right hand as she grappled to pull something bulky out of her bag, “Tell me you’re not trying to pull a turn of the century phonograph out of a canvas bag?”

 

Claudia paused, looking up with the same sheepish expression as on that first day when she’d swung a door into Myka’s face, “Well the one Columbia is supposed to have was mysteriously missing so I had to borrow this one.”

 

“From whom?” Olivia’s question wasn’t accusatory but Claudia froze regardless.

 

The Bronze opening of the phonograph was just peaking out of the top of the bag and Claudia’s dark painted nails drummed softly along the edge, “No offense Agent Dunham but you were on our turf yesterday supposedly investigating me for cyber terrorism,” Claudia’s voice was deceptively reserved, holding herself tall even from her position kneeling on the floor, “Why should I be telling you anything?” 

 

“Claudia-” 

 

The young woman jumped to her feet, spinning back to Helena, “No. No, I will not fall in line. I won’t ‘just not ask’. The time for that is over,” Her calm mask was splintering, giving way to emphatic gestures and an expression that was both weathered and hauntingly young, “You find out that the FBI is involved and the first thing you do is trust Her?”

 

“Yes. And if you were thinking with your head rather than your emotions you’d reach the same conclusion.” Claudia rolled her eyes at Helena’s look of maternal disapproval, glancing meaningfully in Myka’s direction, “Right. Because you’re one to talk.”

 

And as much as Myka was tempted to get into whatever that look meant, she was more concerned for the wax cylinder Claudia was still holding haphazardly in her palm, “I’m going to guess that’s the Whitman recording I was sure I put into my bag earlier.” She wasn’t really upset that Claudia had taken it; she was too excited to find out if her suspicions had been correct.

 

“One 1909 recording supposedly of a Walt Whitman poem by Edison coming right up,” she plopped the phonograph on the table in front of Myka and held out the cylinder, “You gonna explain why I broke into the New-York Historical Society to play this?”

 

“You what?” Myka seemed to be the only one surprised by this.

 

Claudia snickered, “Don’t worry. It’ll be back in its place before anyone notices a thing. Your turn, spill.”

 

Myka took the cylinder, carefully putting it in place before slowly moving the hand crank, “We know that Edison and Whitman were both involved in moving-” she paused, calling it wonderland seemed wrong after all she’d learned in the last few hours, thankfully Helena understood the path of her thoughts, “Claudia and I have called it the Warehouse. In memory…”

 

Myka nodded, “Right, well, Helena and I found evidence that Edison and Whitman were involved in moving the Warehouse from England to the United States at the turn of the century. The two allegedly created a recording of Whitman’s poem “America” in 1892, but there was a second recording found dating to 1909. This second recording was considered less legitimate because Edison was already working with a harder wax cylinder format by that time and so he wouldn’t have used this format anymore.”

 

Her speaking quickened, unable to rein in her excitement, “But I think that was the point. Because delegitimizing it as Edison’s work also puts into doubt if it was truly Whitman’s work. A new version of the poem with three new stanzas.” Myka finished winding the phonograph up, looking at the three women for a moment before letting go.

 

The recording quality was poor, filled with pops and crackles,

 

 

“America”

 

_Centre of Equal daughters, equal sons_

_All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,_

_Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,_

_Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love_

_A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother,_

_Chair’d in the Adamant of Time_

 

_O Camerado Close!_

_Behold, this body, flesh, marrow, soul,_

_O Divine! Onto me the flame is giv’n,_

_Sweet sweet burn, magnificent wonders now interr’d,_

_O Cruelty, to hide away the fire that would warm the Earth_

_See the Path, a many forked stream in my poem_

_I return to the beginning to sink my feet in the sands_

_See Eastward, to flaxen sunsets_

_O to haste, firm holding- to haste, haste on with me_

They all stared at the phonograph as it crackled quietly for a few more seconds before the recording ended. Helena ran a hand through her hair, “Well, I may not have a photographic memory, but that is most assuredly not the original version of Whitman’s poem.”

 

Myka nodded her head distractedly, her mind running through the words again, her right hand twitched in the air as if she were writing out the words, “O Divine! Onto me the flame is giv’n,’ ...he’s talking about the Warehouse.”

 

Helena squinted as she followed her logic, “Because of the symbol?”

 

“Exactly,” she turned to Claudia and Olivia’s blank faces, “The symbol representing the Warehouse dating back thousands of years has been a bird on a flame under a roof.”

 

“’Magnificent wonders now interr’d.’ Interred, do we think it’s in a tomb or grave, perhaps Whitman’s or someone else working with them at the time?”

 

Helena shook her head at Olivia’s suggestion absently, “The archaic meaning of interred is more generally to be put into the earth. I would hazard it is more likely underground somewhere.”

 

They were all on their feet now, staring down at the phonograph as they worked through the poem. Olivia grabbed a pen and piece of paper and jotted the poem down from memory, handing it to Claudia and Helena so they could see it as clearly as Myka and her could.

 

Myka looked down at the paper, seeing it written down in Olivia’s fast but legible script sparked something,

 

_“O Camerado close!_   
_O you and me at last—and us two only._   
  
_O a word to clear one’s path ahead endlessly!_   
_O something extatic and undemonstrable! O music wild!_   
  
_O now I triumph—and you shall also;_   
_O hand in hand—O wholesome pleasure—O one more desirer and lover!_   
_O to haste, firm holding—to haste, haste on with me.”_

 

As she finished reciting the words she watched realizing spread across Helena’s features “Starting from Paumanok. I should have seen it right away, of course his clues would contain a reference to what academics call his literary manifesto.”

 

Myka nodded, “He’s quoting it. That’s what he means by ‘I return to the beginning to sink my feet in the sands.’ He means his hometown.”  She couldn’t help the thrill that ran down her spine, the one that said she was onto something. It was that feeling that got her into this mess, and yet she was yielding to it once again, “Whitman hid the Warehouse in Paumanok.”

 

Helena grinned; that brightness on her face, the way she held Myka’s eyes like there was no one she’d rather reach this understanding with than her; it reminded Myka of too many late nights in Helena’s office, of wanting to be closer all the while having no idea just how badly she might get burned.

 

Claudia raised a hand, “Question from the back of the class, where in the world is Paumanok?”

 

“It’s the native name for Long Island, New Jersey. It means ‘The Island that Pays Tribute.’” Myka kept her gaze on Helena as she answered, not willing to drop that gaze, determined to soak up every drop of openness and joy on Helena’s face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d tried so adamantly to memorize every detail of an image, nevertheless not for school or her career, but simply so that she could treasure it. She suspected she would need it with events to come.

 

Olivia looked the least excited by this new information, she was running a fingertip along parted lips, the nail just brushing against the edge of her teeth, “Even if we find where they hid their secrets a hundred years ago, there’s no telling if there will still be anything left to find.”

 

Helena grinned, but it was far darker than the one she’d just given Myka, “Yes there is. They already showed their hand.” She held all their gazes as she leaned over the table’s edge, “They essentially left Claudia and I alone after Las Vegas, I presume because we posed no active threat, and then all of the sudden the FBI is showing up to collect our research?”

Claudia interrupted, “And let’s not forget that Columbia’s phonograph mysteriously went missing just as we got our hands on this recording.”

 

“They told us two important things, that they have people in the Government and,” Helena trailed off as she gave a pointed look to Agent Dunham.

 

The woman didn’t fail her, “That you were on to something.”

 

Now her grin was positively wolfish, “Precisely.” She turned to Myka, “Myka now would be the time to tell us that you have more research hidden away.”

 

Myka’s brows furrowed, “How did you-?”

 

“Darling, you are most definitely the sort to have back ups. It’s one of the things I adore about you.”

 

There was a moment of weighted silence after that admission; something registered in Olivia’s gaze before she filed it away, “Tell me they’re not stashed away in your place?”

 

Both Helena and Claudia started at the sudden urgency in the agent’s tone but Myka was confused, “Why?”

 

“Shit.” The word wasn’t surprising to hear coming from Claudia but that Helena and Olivia also swore under their breath was troubling.

 

“Because they’ll be coming for it.”

 

Myka wrenched the phone out of her pocket, swearing as she found it had been put on silent, “Pete said he might be stopping by my place tonight. I completely forgot.”  There was one new message. She paled halfway through, shoving her finger on speaker phone and holding it out in front of her,

 

_“Hey Mykes, I don’t want you to worry but it looks like someone broke into your place. I’m going to have to assume you’re fine and you just don’t know since you’re not picking up your phone,” there was a definite edge of worry in Pete’s voice and Myka grimaced, wondering how she was going to keep Pete from all of this. If he knew what she was involved in he’d want to help, to have her back. He’d demand it._

_“I can’t tell if anything was taken. Your sad collection of electronics seem to be here. Seriously Mykes it’s about time we get you a TV. You don’t even have anything good to steal.” She rolled her eyes but stopped as she heard an odd noise on the message. “Hey! What are you doing here?” There was a scuffle, the unmistakable sound of a gun going off, and then the phone hit the ground._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Whitman’s “America” Poem, the first stanza is real, the rest are of my own invention for the furthering of this story. Much of the other details are mostly correct, just tweaked here and there :P Chapter 5 is mostly written, we’ll see when I can get it finished.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you think. :)


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